


and i couldn't believe my eyes

by jegudiel



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Non-Linear Narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 09:30:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16910400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jegudiel/pseuds/jegudiel
Summary: catra meets adora on the battlefield. she wonders how it came to this.





	and i couldn't believe my eyes

 

> and I couldn’t believe my eyes
> 
> i couldn’t believe my ears
> 
> but i’m looking at you now
> 
> and i can’t believe we’re here

"couldn't believe" (broods)

 

-

 

catra finds adora behind the enemy line. catra will save her. catra’s so happy to see her again! so happy. i missed you. please come home, come back with me, so things can be like the way they were. i missed you. please come home.

“i’m not _going home_ ,” adora snaps.

catra doesn’t understand. adora’s not making any sense.

_you promised._

-

 

adora never enters catra’s life. she simply _is_. she’s just another facet of the universe, like the presence of the moons or the changing of the seasons or the green smog hanging thick in the sky. catra knows that the sun will rise in the morning, and she knows that shadow weaver will hurt her, and she knows that adora has always been there and always will be. that’s _the way things are_.

 

-

 

“five, four, three—go!”

catra lunges at adora with her staff. adora’s staff flies from her hand, and she staggers back across hexagons in neon pink. catra swings at her ankles, tripping her. adora crashes to the ground. catra’s hands pin her staff across adora’s chest, digging into her collar bone, just above her chestplate and just below the jugular.

(blood pulses there. they’d told them that the killing of something that bled would be the same as the killing of the practice bots. catra had believed them. she’s suddenly not so sure.)

this is catra’s first fight of a life of fighting. in general, and against adora.

catra smirks. adora’s eyes look dull.

“three—two—one—” calls the supervisor.

three seconds down, and you’re out.

adora’s eyes widen. she shoves catra’s staff up, driving her back, and twists it so that catra’s forced to release. adora jumps to her feet and knees catra in the gut, not with enough force to really hurt, but with enough to knock the wind out of her chest when she slams to the ground. catra coughs.

how the tables turn.

“three—two—one—”

adora’s eyes are a beautiful blue. her chest heaves with exertion. strands of muted gold dangle down and tickle catra’s cheeks.

“zero.”

catra won’t let her win again.

 

-

 

something dark and ancient and sickly slips its tendrils into catra’s veins as she leaves the locker room. catra nearly crashes into the wearer of a looming mask.

“i’ve been watching your training,” says shadow weaver icily.

“a—and?” catra dares to hope.

“your technique should look more like adora’s.”

catra’s heart sinks.

 

-

 

evening training again. same old, same old. hours at the weights. group training with the bots. boxing alone. sparring. one round becomes two out of three becomes four out of five until adora wins at four, after everyone else has long gone to shower before dinner.

they each swing an arm around each other and head for the lockers to shower. just before adora turns the handle on the gym’s exit door, catra sticks out her hand. why’d she do that, she thinks.

“what?” adora cocks her head.

“wait,” catra says. catra lets adora’s arm slip off her shoulder and reaches for her hands. adora accepts and laces their fingers together. adora’s hands are warm, catra’s cool; together they make perfect temperature equilibrium. it’s cheesy. it’s good. butterflies flutter in catra’s stomach.

“can i—can i kiss you?” catra asks, stupidly. why did she do that, too. maybe because catra’s been wanting it for a while, and she’s a little dizzy off adrenaline, and nobody else is around, and how many other times do courage and circumstance align like that?

it’s hard to tell with the pink lighting, but catra’s pretty sure adora flushes to match. she grins.

“okay,” she breathes. “please.”

so they steal that single kiss together, alone on the gym floor.

adora’s fingers tangle in catra’s hair. she tastes like sugar and smells like summer rain.

 

-

 

adora teaches catra about attachment and inadequacy. family and the feeling of failure. it’s not adora’s fault. she just does her best. always, always. she’s not responsible for shadow weaver’s ire. maybe catra has to remind herself of this. maybe more than she’d like to admit.

 

-

 

it’s funny how catra remembers adora that way, as a hasty hazy snapshot of racing time, for so long afterwards. she’d never imagined there being a last time she’d see adora before, but it now that it had happened, it seemed like the image should be a brand on her mind’s eye instead of an instant photo she’d only thought to rescue from her river of memory once the colors had long begun to bleed.

she can still feel the wind in her fur, rush in her veins, taste the pine in the air. but adora, adora’s just a red-and-gold blur and a fleeting second of sound.

“catra, _slow down_!” left adora’s mouth as her last words before everything changed.

(catra really wishes she’d paid better attention.)

“slow down,” adora’d said to the one always trying to keep up. catra hadn’t thought of it that way at first. she didn’t recognize the irony until she’d turned the moment over and over in her head, heart heavy, hunting down the part where she’d fucked it all up.

she’d settled on not that moment but one a few hours later as the tipping point. maybe if catra had been less careless on the skiff, adora would never have left at all, but _i’ll be back before anyone knows i’m gone_ had been her last chance to make things right. catra shouldn’t have taken that as an answer.

(shouldn’t have gone out on the skiff. shouldn’t have lost force captain to adora, shouldn’t have been weaker than her, shouldn’t have, shouldn’t have, shouldn’t have for almost two decades.)

 

-

 

“they've been lying to us, manipulating us. hordak, shadow weaver, all of them.”

“ _duh._ you just figured that out? manipulation is shadow weaver's whole thing. she's been messing with our heads since we were kids.”

red light, shouting, a face that bled black like ink.

“how could you be okay with that?” adora demands, like she doesn't know.

whatever.

“it doesn't matter what they do. we look out for each other, and soon we'll be calling the shots. now, can we go home?”

catra, tears soaking through her fur.

“i'm not going home—not after everything I've seen. come with me. you don't have to go back there. we can fix this.”

“are you kidding? you've known them for, what, a couple hours? you're gonna throw everything away for them? ugh! _what happened to you?_ ”

_you promised._

 

-

 

catra watches something like a deity destroy horde troops, the figure radiating light, its golden hair flowing in an unseen breeze, the smell of ozone in the air and its taste on catra’s tongue.

dust kicks up as the warrior falls. in its place, adora rises, and catra understands.

not enough, not where she wishes she did, but where it counts: enough to know that she’s been left behind.

worthless again. she’s never been good enough for shadow weaver, and despite all the times adora’s told her otherwise, catra’s not good enough for her either.

and yet—

 

-

 

“you look out for me, i look out for you. nothing really bad can happen as long as we have each other.”

“you promise?”

“i promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> idk how i feel about this at all but i had it like 3/4 of the way written a couple weeks ago and i figured i'd just go ahead and finish it today so. here it is. whatever it is. unedited. feedback appreciated


End file.
